Jack the Ripper
by mrjno1fan
Summary: 1888, London ,England. The Joker is a known man in the underworld of victorian England but to the papers he is known as Jack the ripper. It's his little secret.
1. The ripper?

**The ripper?**

Whitechapel, London, 1888. The papers now say a man named Jack walks the streets of London in search of blood. This circus started with just a girl, one stupid little girl. Well stupid enough to walk around Whitechapel all alone and drunk. This Jack character saw her and knew exactly what to do with her. He saw her pale skin, her chapped lips, her mad hair, her beating heart, her veins and her bones. He saw her as a joke, he would show London that the so called police were not so honorable and capable, and that he was the only one who could perform the perfect crime. He would make the police corps the laughing stock of London, yes; he liked jokes. He was a tall man, young, disturbed, warped, had been in a fight when he was a lad and so had something quite peculiar out of it. A Chelsea grin. He liked jokes. Jokes like the monarchy, the socialites, these whores!

He had a reputation in the underworld of London. But to all who knew him and hired him for his services he was not Jack, this name he only knew it himself, he was The Joker.

Nobody knew this Mr.J was the Jack fellow, after all he had only used his real name twice. One time, when he was younger and naïve to try to get out of trouble with some opium dealers and that, as his features showed, didn't end up well. And second on that funny letter he had sent to the police chief, yes you know the one, the one signed "from Hell"…


	2. A tramp and a socialite

**Chapter 1: A tramp and a socialite**

Harleen Quinnzel is one of the 1200 prostitutes that live and work in the Whitechapel area. She is having mixed feelings at the moment apparently, and is laughing hard. She doesn't know why she is not feeling sad or anguished, but apparently the death of that girl, what was her name?.. oh yes, Martha Tabram is making her tremble with mirth. That tart had tried to turn tricks in her turf and now lookey what happened to her. Harleen thought this was going to be a lucky day. 39 stab wounds, who would have known?

The Joker is walking on his way to his hideout and snatches a paper of a vendor's place near Osborn Street. He usually doesn't go out during plain daylight but he just had to get the paper and see how his plan was turning out. There it was in the first page, "Prostitute killed in Whitechapel! Body is found with 39 stab wounds". Magnificent; that was the only word he could think to describe his plan, and it was taking off just fine. He reaches his hideout and approaches the door cautiously, checking if someone is following him. There was nothing behind him except a black cat trying to catch a mouse. He watches this for a moment for he can understand the thrill the cat must get out of chasing his prey, the emotion of the sneaking and the prowl, the excitement of catching it, the delight of making it squeal and the joy of seeing the life disappear from its eyes. He laughs at the sight of the mouse getting ripped to pieces and finally enters the old building.

There's nothing inside other than an old dirty cot in a corner of the room and a simple table in the center of it. Playing cards are all about the table and a glass next to a bottle of absinthe is there as well. There's an oil lamp and a trunk where the man kept the few items of clothing he possessed. He had a thing for purple and you could tell by his garments that he enjoyed wearing it. He sits on the table and takes off his gloves, he pours himself a glass of the spirit and begins to burn the sugar cube. As the little drops of sweetness fall into the emerald liquid he stares and thinks about his new victim. He feels the muscles on his face tighten and sees on his reflection on the bottle that he's grinning.

Bruce Wayne is a very wealthy and well respected man in London. He is close to the Royals and works hard to maintain a good image amongst his peers. But as he drinks his tea that morning and reads the paper a frown falls upon his face. A poor woman has been murdered, and quite a murder it was. Indeed Master Bruce, as his butler Alfred calls him, worries about the common citizen and is also fascinated with the wonderful science of forensics. Maybe he should let this slide, or maybe, just maybe, he should help the police and start an investigation of his own.


End file.
